One Soul
by Moribus
Summary: At the end of "Equinox," Kathryn is deeply disturbed. While her senior staff works to handle the aftermath, she struggles to keep herself together. A 10,000 word WIP; more to come, but this story will probably never be completed.
1. Condemnation

**Title: One Soul**

**Author**: Moribus

**Series**: VOY

**Code**: gen

**Rating**: R

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.

**Summary**: At the end of "Equinox," Kathryn is deeply disturbed. While her senior staff works to handle the aftermath, she struggles to keep herself together.

**Archiving**: Fanfictiondotnet. Please ask for anywhere else, and if you know of other archives, let me know!

**Feedback**: Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top? Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored!

**Note**: I cannot say thanks enough to my beta, JJ, who singlehandedly taught me the basics of fiction writing.

=/\=

"The last time we welcomed you aboard, you took advantage of our trust. You betrayed this crew. I won't make that mistake again."

Kathryn watched herself say those words, numbly removed from it all.

The five surviving members of the U.S.S. Equinox' crew stood stiffly at attention in the conference room. She slowly strode in front of them as Tuvok and Chakotay looked on.

"Noah Lessing. Marla Gilmore. James Morrow. Brian Sofin. Angelo Tassoni. You're hereby stripped of rank. You'll be expected to serve as crewmen on this vessel. Your privileges will be limited. And you'll serve under close supervision for as long as I deem fit."

The tone of her own voice chilled her. She longed to offer a bit of comfort as they mourned the loss of their ship, their captain, and the rest of their crew. She wanted to assure them that hard work and loyalty would be rewarded.

But she couldn't. She could only watch.

"This time, you'll have to earn our trust. Dismissed."

The crewmen filed out of the room, escorted by Tuvok.

Alone with Chakotay, Kathryn's mind switched out of autopilot. She kept her back to him, not allowing him to watch the shift in her demeanor. Helplessness, grief, and despair showed for the slightest of moments before she pulled her composure around herself.

"Repairs?" she asked, turning an ear to him.

"Coming along," he answered neutrally.

She nodded and headed for the bridge.

Stepping through the doorway, Kathryn barely glanced at the tangles of fried conduits that hung from the ceiling.

It all seemed surreal. The lights too bright. The crew too quiet. The viewscreen too empty.

Well, battles usually end abruptly. That wasn't the problem.

Chakotay had followed her from the briefing room. Only recently released from confinement to quarters, he was waiting... Waiting.

Well, he did deserve an explanation, if not an apology. After all, he had been confined to quarters for doing his job. For challenging his captain when she had endangered a man's life.

He deserved an explanation, if not an apology. But Kathryn could offer neither. She couldn't find the words to describe her regret.

In any case, he was still waiting. Expecting her to make the first gesture, as surely as he always let her have the last word.

"How's the crew?" she asked.

She still wouldn't turn toward him. How terribly weak.

"A lot of frayed nerves," he said. She heard him walk across the upper level of the bridge. He was always respectful of her wishes. And clearly she wished a bit of distance.

"Neelix is organizing a potluck to help boost morale," he offered.

"Will I see you there?" she asked. Inwardly, she winced at the despair she heard in her voice.

"I'm replicating the salad."

Her heart leapt just a little. He intended to put this behind them. And although that was a great relief, she found herself feeling even more guilty. Somehow it felt worse to fail someone who wouldn't hold it against her.

"I'll bring the croutons," she said, trying to match his banter. And failing miserably. She paused, trying to think of something more to say, but all that was left was anguish.

She finally took a good look at him, but there was no point. He still had that neutral manner. Her gaze dropped back down to the deck.

At last, she beckoned, "Chakotay."

They both moved to stand together on the lower level of the bridge. Even as her hair rippled under his breath, tickling the side of her neck, she couldn't meet his eyes.

Why should she feel so ashamed? Certainly, Chakotay had been wronged, but she had faced much worse head-on.

Her shame was not about events and apologies, she realized. It was about her responsibilities as a Starfleet captain.

She had failed. The least she could do was be honest about it.

"You know," she began, pausing to rally her strength, "you may have had good reason to stage a mutiny of your own."

"The thought had occurred to me," he admitted.

Kathryn's breath caught in her throat. Would she step down if he asked her to? A sickening dread gathered in her stomach. She knew that she'd seriously consider it.

A part of her was furious that she could even think that. How could she consider giving up her ship? But that's how she got here in the first place -- she had let that aggressive side control her, with nearly tragic consequences. She was desperate to be sure it couldn't happen again.

He added, "That would have been crossing the line."

She started at that, and her gaze darted up at him.

Loyalty. He granted her reprieve out of loyalty.

It didn't make much sense. Scratch that. It didn't make sense at all. He knew as well as she that any competent captain commanded a certain amount of loyalty. It didn't excuse her from her responsibilities.

But that was a conundrum for a different time. She was too exhausted, too heartsick. Chakotay's 'line' could be pondered after a little sleep and more than a little coffee.

As she glanced away from him, a glint of brass caught her eye. "Will you look at that?" she mused.

The ship's dedication plaque lay among charred bits of bulkhead. Kathryn retrieved it, dusting the surface with her hand.

Not so long ago, she had been on the bridge of the Equinox, watching Captain Ransom take his ship's plaque in hand. A fallen plaque. A matter of course to him. Just as it had been a matter of course to sacrifice his ethics.

"All these years, all these battles," she said. "This thing's never fallen down before."

It was terribly irrational. Illogical, as Tuvok would have it. But she couldn't help but feel that Voyager had laid down her own condemnation.

Kathryn had failed.

Completely oblivious to the significance, Chakotay took the plaque and replied, "Let's put it back up where it belongs."

---

Please feed the author! Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored! And nice comments are great, too!


	2. Realization

Chakotay took a last glance at the plaque. Properly cleaned and in its place by the briefing room doors, it was as good as new. If only the rest of the aftermath could be fixed so easily.

Sighing deeply, he left the bridge.

As he entered his office, his gaze automatically dropped to his desk. Even neatly stacked, the padds were overwhelming. He absently thumbed through them as he sat at his desk. Maintenance reports, energy requisitions, duty rosters, inventories, cabin assignments, and all the other minutiae of starship management waited for his attention. Well, they would wait one more day.

Chakotay leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes focus on nothing.

In battle or the intrigues preceding it, every little detail could become a disaster. A skilled tactician and leader considered every contingency. But in day-to-day life, he took peace where he could find it. In doing so, it was easy to get lulled into a false sense of security.

This time, the false sense of security had a name -- Kathryn Janeway.

Kathryn was a wreck. Over the years, stress had taken its toll, wearing away at her strengths until she was a mere shadow of herself. Yet somehow, she had still managed to convince herself and her staff that she was fit to serve.

Chakotay had never been good at seeing past deception when it came to his personal life. He was an honest man, from an honest people. And he accepted that, as Tom once said, 'it takes one to know one.'

Tuvok, Seska, and Kathryn were all talented liars -- the bullshit about Vulcan honesty notwithstanding -- and when those talents were turned upon him, he had no defense. But he felt damned foolish nonetheless.

Kathryn claimed to be such a close friend. How could he have missed it?

Kathryn was more unpredictable than a two-headed Malgorian who had gotten into the spring wine. Every decision was led by her wildly swinging moods. Some days, she was all business, following Starfleet protocol to the letter. Other days, compassion was her only concern, and she upheld the prime directive only if it was convenient.

He knew her moods were compromising her ability to do her job. But by the time ship's business was calm and he had time to call her on it, she was acting so normal he actually doubted what he'd seen. After all, if something were truly wrong, Tuvok would have done something about it. Right?

It was important that she remain captain. Not for his sake; he never doubted his ability to lead the ship. But Voyager was the one thing that truly mattered to Kathryn. As her friend, he had to support that.

So, he stopped looking for what was wrong, and started noting what was right. And usually, everything seemed fine.

Some days she acted with the blend of sensibility and caring that he expected from Kathryn Janeway. Like when she subtly quizzed him to see if he was a disguised member of species 8472. Or when her strategy paralleled her hospitality in dealing with the telepath-fearing Devoran, Kashyk. And there was no forgetting Kathryn decked out as the Spider Queen. (She'd have his head if she knew he'd kept a vid of that.)

Kathryn could pull it together when it counted. Or, at least, that's what he needed to believe.

On those occasions when her actions were bizarre, it was easy to claim she was just having an off day. His time as a Maquis had trained him to wait out the rough spots, and he did his best to cut her some slack.

In the end, he had just given her enough rope to hang herself with it.

He never pushed her to get treated for the stress. He never discussed it with the doctor or Tuvok. He just watched it build.

And when it reached the red line, Kathryn nearly murdered Equinox crewman Noah Lessing.

Chakotay moved to the center of his office as he thought over the previous day. Giving into his restlessness, he clasped his hands behind him and slowly paced.

It all began with the ambush. Chakotay and Tom lurked among the brush as Equinox crewmen Lessing and Sofin searched for deuterium ore. Voyager beamed all four up long before the Equinox knew that anything was amiss.

The smooth execution of the attack reminded him of his time with the Maquis. Timing and precision had always been a must when pitting outdated freighters against the latest Cardassian warships and Federation starships. Unfortunately, the similarities to the Maquis way of life had only begun, as Kathryn then decided to interrogate Lessing.

Chakotay had expected her to let him run the interrogation. As a Maquis captain, he had broken the wills of more people than he could remember, often meeting apparently impossible deadlines for information. Compared to the ability of a starship captain who had studied the Starfleet-sanctioned interrogation techniques in the academy, he was obviously more qualified. But that didn't matter. Kathryn felt like running the show, so he was assigned the role of silent intimidation.

She sat Lessing in cargo bay one and demanded the Equinox' tactical status. Of course, Lessing refused. Kathryn hadn't given him any reason to comply. Starfleet regulations bound her from using telepathy, drugs, and torture, and he knew that.

All that remained was coercion and persuasion. With her level of skill, Kathryn probably didn't have the time for that, and she clearly didn't have the patience. Instead, she resolved to drop the shielding around the cargo bay, allowing the life forms the opportunity to attack and kill him.

Chakotay had studied Lessing's eyes, reading the nuances of emotion as easily as he would scan a padd. He knew at once that the strategy had failed. Lessing was in sheer terror. But he had faced death too many times, and he was too loyal to the captain and crew who had saved him from it. He would sooner die than talk.

Considering that, Kathryn's promise to leave him to the lifeforms was simply murder.

Kathryn didn't back down. Chakotay didn't really expect her to; she didn't know how. In that moment, it ceased to be an interrogation and became a deadly power struggle. One that they were all doomed to lose.

In a nightmarish flashback to his Maquis captaincy, he recalled numerous occasions when interrogation had become an excuse to torture or kill a prisoner. Every time it had happened, he was sickened to the core, just as he was each time he took a life. No life, sentient or otherwise, was disposable to him.

But one maxim taught at Starfleet always rang true: Commanding in battle requires choosing the least abhorrent of the unacceptable options.

So if Chakotay stood impassively as Kathryn threatened Lessing, it was because he was no longer a Starfleet officer seeing a man in a chair in a cargo bay. He was a freedom fighter, and he was watching a valued comrade vent her rage and despair through vengeance, because her sanity would be the price of mercy.

When Kathryn led Chakotay to the corridor outside the cargo bay, the spell was broken. This was a Starfleet ship, and he was facing a woman who would never be served by letting her insanity run its course. Ethics meant too much to her. At least, they did when she was thinking straight.

Chakotay had argued bitterly with Kathryn, trying to get her to bring the shielding back up. But it was a waste of breath.

She kept insisting that Lessing would crack, that he'd call over the comm system and reveal the tactical status to save his life. And she truly believed that. After all, who would dare act contrary to the iron-fisted will of Kathryn Janeway?

In the end, Chakotay stood in the hall, shouting at her as she balked. It was all going so wrong. He couldn't let her do this to herself. He finally stalked into the cargo bay, fired his phaser at the fissures that had opened to admit the lifeforms, and pulled Lessing out of the room.

Without a word, she left him to deal with the mortified, urine-soaked crewman.

But Kathryn didn't confine Chakotay to quarters when he defied her will. No, that came later, in the briefing room.

She had been furious. He swore that he wouldn't allow her betray her ethics. So she removed him from duty.

He had sat in his quarters, struggling to let go of his humiliation. The dismissal stung, even if it had been borne of insanity. He watched the ship's sensor information from his personal console, trying to avoid thinking about her.

A starship couldn't survive with her captain and first officer at odds with each other. And with such a volatile captain, it was up to him to keep the peace.

But now, as he walked the length of his office, he freely admitted that he had reached the limits of his considerable patience.

Since he had been released from quarters, she had attempted to avoid being alone in a room with him. Things were terribly tense, often marked by silence.

When she finally did talk to him, she didn't apologize for removing him from duty. An apology from Kathryn Janeway? Perish the thought. Instead, she proved that she was thinking solely of herself as she mentioned the threat of mutiny.

Every step of the way, even when mutiny was justified, he had been watching out for her. Insane or not, she should have known that.

He would never override one of her decisions without a damn good reason. But it seemed she had no trust in him to do what was right.

Maybe she never had.

He sensed that he was a step away from understanding what he hadn't before. And yet, even as he felt things come together, a pool of dread formed in the pit of his stomach. Whatever the truth was, he wasn't going to like it.

He sat down heavily on the couch. The pacing had become a distraction. He needed to focus past the roiling of his emotions.

Trying to pick up his train of thought again, he considered his last reflection: Maybe she never had trusted him.

She didn't trust him when she found evidence of a spy aboard Voyager. Instead, she had contrived an operation designed in part to keep him unaware. Once he learned of that plan, he had worked hard to get past it. He hadn't even thought of it in years. But he couldn't ignore the common thread between it and the Lessing incident.

Kathryn trusted him to follow loyally, but she didn't trust his judgment.

His heart began to beat faster and harder as his anger rose.

Damn it, he deserved better from her.

He was a captain and a leader in his own right. He held together a band of misfits and malcontents, many of whom had little training and less regard for authority. He led people who never could have passed Starfleet Academy's entrance exams, much less graduate. And while coordinating the movements of his entire Maquis cell, his crew had accomplished far more than the odds would allow.

Yet when circumstances demanded it, he surrendered his authority to serve beneath an uppity captain on her brand new Intrepid-class starship, who wore a fourth pip that was newer than her manicure.

Chakotay shook his head, amazed at how completely he had bowed under her will. He didn't just follow her orders; he indulged her moods and catered to her whims. He gave more than his share, even when she refused to meet him halfway. And as her friend, he had always been glad to do it.

If her appreciation was rarely voiced, it didn't matter. He gave because he wanted to give. She had never needed to earn his best efforts. When he offered friendship, he simply gave what he could. Love -- platonic or otherwise -- was never about remembering who was indebted to whom.

Now that he thought to look for it, it was obvious how much she kept him at a distance. Even the most personal of conversations with her had their own set of rules. It was always a dance of diplomacy with her. He had to watch for the subtle signals that told him what couldn't be discussed, lest she shut him out for coming too close.

Just as much as fairness didn't matter, trust did. Trust was the foundation of friendship. As long as Kathryn didn't truly trust him, they were just acquaintances.

And he, who had given so much and expected so little, was being used.

His line of sight wandered to his desk, and his eyes narrowed. He'd had enough of simmering in his office. He was going home, even if the end of his shift was hours away.

After all, Kathryn would never dare say anything about it.

He stalked through the corridors, fully aware that his expression was set in a fierce grimace. Each time he passed some of the crew, he managed a curt nod.

Tuvok, of course, just raised that damned eyebrow, and three from Voyager's original crew looked on in concern and confusion. But both the Maquis stepped aside, watching him warily.

Chakotay ignored the stares and continued to his quarters.

---

For those who aren't fans of Janeway-bashing, don't worry. I like Kathryn a lot more than Chakotay does at the moment.

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.

All hail JJ, the almighty beta!

Please feed the author! Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored!


	3. The Wake

Tom absently rocked his glass back and forth, listening to the ice clink against the sides. Lots of people showed up to Neelix' potluck, but you'd think it was a wake. Maybe it was. Just an excuse to drink up and get some real food.

Tom was trying to hold a conversation with the Equinox crewmen. Emphasis on the 'trying'. He'd figured, what the hell, have a little chat; show 'em that someone would give them a second chance. He should pass on the favor. Trouble was, favors usually bit him in the end. He was bored stiff, stuck watching for an excuse to leave.

The small talk was easy. He'd learned how to do that by age five, playing the proper "Little Man" at his father's 'Fleet socials. He'd also learned to pretend that he gave a damn. But like always, he couldn't wait for it to end.

Still pretending to listen, he looked around. People were clustered here and there. A bunch of engineers were bitching about B'Elanna. A few couples stared vacantly out the viewports. He heard a chuckle from the lower decks Maquis near the buffet. Tuvok sat in the corner, staring at a PADD. Neelix fussed over everyone.

The captain had showed up at the start of the little gathering. She did the standard 'Fleet diplomat routine, giving a robotic little spiel about family unity, thanking everyone for their hard work and dedication. But by the hushed whispers around him after the speech, he could tell that people mostly noticed what she didn't say: she didn't mention the Equinox crewmen or welcome them into the ranks of Voyager's crew.

Maybe she thought she'd already done it. She welcomed them the first day they set foot on Voyager, when they were still Ransom's crew. But Tom had to agree, her silence and their identical demotions announced that they weren't wanted anymore.

After her little moment was over, she stood there, scanning the crowd. Chakotay was there, which meant she was expected to go chat with him. Instead, she grabbed Tuvok and began grilling him for status reports. Even without knowing the gossip of the past few days, anyone could see that the captain's problems centered around Chakotay. It was almost funny, watching those two dance around each other, pretending that everything was fine while Janeway glued herself to Tuvok's side. But the tension was thick.

"Captain!" Neelix hollered. "I'm so glad you could make it. I have several wonderful dishes I can't wait for you to try…"

The corners of her eyes betrayed the wince she'd tried to hide. She held up her hand and said, "Sorry, Neelix, but I'm exhausted. I'll look forward to what's left tomorrow." She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and scanned the hall again, then she nodded to Tuvok, turned on her heel and left.

Something was very, very wrong with her. Most people would shrug and say she was just being human, but Tom knew better. Appearances were everything to the captain. A lot of 'Fleet brats were like that. They'd rather destroy themselves than let their image falter. So if she let her crew see her that way, it was because she couldn't hide it any more.

Tom looked back at the Equinox crewmen. If Harry had been there, he'd have been the first to offer friendship. But Harry was busy welding engineering back together. And really, someone should make an effort. What with the captain treating them like Cardassian refugees and Chakotay too busy glowering, it was up to him. Those were the kinds of thoughts that got him in this mess. And now Tom was stuck smiling politely, sipping at his drink, bored out of his mind.

When the conversation stalled yet again, Tom set down his drink and invited them to the holodecks. On nights when Neelix went all-out for the crew, the holodecks were always set to public access, running the two most popular programs. Lately, that meant the Paxau resort and Sandrine's.

The dull, depressing crewmen seemed to be hoping for a dull, depressing bar. He walked with them, got them settled at a table, and introduced them to Sandrine. To Tom's relief, none of them took him up on an invitation to play pool. Safety in numbers, he guessed, as he said goodnight. He went to the pool table and settled into the familiar routine of a solitary practice game.

He sighed at the drama between the command team. He saw Chakotay sitting alone in a corner of Sandrine's, pondering a glass of iced tea. The man looked haggard, and Tom wondered why he hadn't gone to his quarters by now. But if Chakotay wanted to brood, who was he to stop him?

Balls cracked together as he settled into an easy rhythm, and he was drawn into challenge of the game.

Some time later, the atmosphere of the room quieted for a brief moment. Tom looked up to see who had entered.

Greg Ayala stood near the doorway, doing his tall, dark, and intimidating bit. He took a moment to case the place.

Tom walked over and asked, "You looking for someone in particular?"

"Hey, Paris," Greg said, as if that was an answer.

"What's going on, Greg?"

"I wonder if you could clear something up for me."

Tom knew what Greg was going to say before he said it, but he waited anyway.

"I heard that the Cap is furious. Any truth to it?"

Tom smiled at the old Maquis nickname for Chakotay. No one said it around the 'Fleeters, which is what the Maquis figured Tom was. But things had slowly changed. Since Harry and B'Elanna started finding excuses to be anywhere but where he was, he'd started hanging around with Greg and Chakotay. The three had formed a solid friendship -- even if it was a bit low-key for Tom's tastes. And Greg had started to see him as a compatriot.

"Lots. What are the rumors?"

Tom had spent entire evenings counting just how many questions Greg could dodge in a night. At first he had thought Greg was just trying to get to him. Then he realized that Greg was like that with almost everyone.

"What, you don't already know?" Greg asked, giving the room another once-over.

Tom grinned. Greg must have been checking for Voyager's biggest gossip. "Harry's still in engineering."

"Ah, that explains it," Greg said.

Tom shook his head, wondering what exactly that had explained.

Lots of people had been after Tom for the latest gossip that night. After all, he had been in a perfect position to watch everything as it happened. But Tom couldn't really make heads or tails of it himself, and hadn't seen any use in adding his speculation. Gossiping about the command team could be a really bad idea for one of the senior staff.

Greg was different. Greg listened to rumors, but he didn't repeat them. Not to anyone. ...well, Tom had some doubts when it came to Chakotay. The two were as close as brothers, so Greg's questions weren't just idle curiosity. And if Greg wanted to know the latest details about his 'Cap,' he could have 'em.

"Chakotay's been pissed off at Captain Janeway all night," Tom said. "Which shocked the shit out of me. He was fine when he came back on duty. I swear, I'll never understand that man. Put him under house arrest for no good reason, and he just shrugs it off. Then out of nowhere, he's pissed. They must have had a spectacular argument or something, but no one saw it happen."

"I see," Greg said. He nodded toward Chakotay, who hadn't moved a millimeter since Tom had entered. "I'll go get him. Rack 'em up."

Playing pool with Greg was a relative phrase. The man was strictly an observer. So, if Chakotay could be separated from his glass, Greg would stand nearby, nursing a beer and baiting Chakotay.

When the pyramid of balls was set exactly as Tom liked it, he took a moment to look across the room. Greg was sitting across from Chakotay, and their heads were bowed in quiet discussion.

Tom shook his head in wonder. Chakotay would have given him a quick brush off and sent him on his way.

Then they both stood and headed toward the door. That was quick. Too quick. Chakotay didn't even give Greg a chance. Chakotay paused at the table of Equinox crewmen, cordially acknowledging them as a good XO should. But wait, they were heading for the pool table. Tom hid his surprise as he beckoned to Sandrine.

"Hello, Tom," Chakotay said softly. He looked weary, but the coiled tension and anger was gone.

"Hey, Chakotay," Tom answered with a small flyboy smile. He handed over his cue stick and pulled another from the rack.

Sandrine came over to take their drink order -- gin and tonic with a twist for Tom, beer for Greg, and iced tea for Chakotay.

Chakotay broke, then stood back, examining the set-up. As expected, Greg took the moment to start the conversation.

Quietly enough that no one but Tom and Chakotay could hear him, Greg asked, "So, anyone checked out the fresh meat?" He gazed meaningfully at the table of Equinox crewmen.

Tom held his breath to keep from laughing. Fresh meat? More like dead fish. Not that anyone could blame them. They were still huddled together, a textbook example of paranoia and apprehension. But at least it seemed they had finally found something to talk about.

Chakotay was still eying the pool table. He shrugged and suggested, "I guess Marla Gilmore isn't bad looking."

It was a joke worthy of Tuvok.

...it was a joke. Right?

Greg grinned at Chakotay, his eyes sparkling. "...if you like blonds."

Tom was stunned when he saw Chakotay's reaction. He turned and fixed Greg with his command glare -- not as frightening as Janeway's, but still -- and the slightest hint of a blush crept up his cheeks.

Well, well. The commander was embarrassed.

Tom unsuccessfully tried to hide his smirk. It didn't matter; Chakotay was too focused on Greg to notice. Tom ran through the list of blonds on board, dying to know who had caught his eye. His mind spun out at the idea of Chakotay and Seven.

"Actually," Greg continued, not bothering to notice Chakotay's ire, "I was thinking more of two meters or so of pure milk chocolate."

Tom took a good look at Noah Lessing. The man wasn't hard on the eyes, even if he was a bit on the thin side. And young. He must have been fresh from the Academy when he started out on Equinox. But then, everyone knew Greg liked younger men.

By the time Tom looked back, Chakotay was perfectly calm and composed. The silent conversation between the two must have been intense. He was sorry he'd missed it.

"Greg," Chakotay sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Why do you have to go after *him*?"

"Hmm?" Greg asked, staring in earnest at the crewman.

"All I'm saying is, Lessing strikes me as a ladies' man."

"Yeah," Tom agreed, surprised that Chakotay had said it.

"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying," Greg said, unfazed.

"Yes I can," Chakotay groused. "I get to hear all the gory details when he turns you down." He punctuated the comment by a smooth shot that sent two solids to their pockets. The game was on.

---

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.

All hail JJ, the almighty beta!

Please feed the author! Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored!


	4. Regret

Kathryn lay in her bed, tossing and turning under the soft glow of the starlight. The Equinox' final few moments haunted her.

She stood on the bridge of that ailing ship, fighting with the navigational controls to get it just a little bit further from Voyager. The sacrifices she'd made flashed through her mind. But they weren't about nucleogenic life forms or watching her first officer pull a phaser in mutiny. They were about a horrified crewman in a cargo bay, and a fallen plaque, and a first officer glowering at her in the mess, and a cluster of defrocked Starfleet officers who were made to feel entirely unwelcome.

The computer called out the seconds until warp core breach. She counted along as she waited for her molecules to be scattered into the vacuum of space in a violent explosion. Everything went white and utterly silent.

With a cry, she sat bolt upright in her bed and called up the lights.

A blinding headache immediately descended upon her. She gasped and steeled herself against the pain, as a thick band of pressure asserted itself along her brow. Lately the headaches were a constant companion.

Unsteadily, she went to shower the film of sweat off her body. She went through the movements mechanically, pulling off her nightgown, ordering the shower on, wincing as her own voice encouraged the pain.

She absolutely refused to go to the doctor. The only drugs that worked would land her on restricted duty. And if the doctor knew how bad her headache was, he'd probably put her on restricted duty anyway. She had a ship to run, and no headache was going to stop her. No one ever understood that if she took time off for every vicious headache or every three-day run of insomnia, she'd never get any work done.

But here she was, wide-awake well after ship's midnight, and it wasn't a simple matter of insomnia.

Shower finished, she tugged a fresh nightgown on. The viewport lured her, and she curled up on her couch to gaze out of it. Nothing was out there but an endless field of stars. Beautiful, as always, but... She missed being able to see the other Federation ship from her quarters.

Though wounded, mislead, and embattled, Equinox had been Kathryn's first tangible connection to home. Another Starfleet ship lost in the wilds of the Delta Quadrant. A science ship fending for itself against all odds. And all was lost when they compromised their ethics to find a faster way home.

It wasn't as black and white as it seemed, and as the captain of Voyager, she wasn't in the best position to judge the Equinox crew. Voyager was a state-of-the-art long-range reconnaissance and research vessel. Comparing Voyager to a Equinox, a Nova-class science scout, was like comparing Equinox to a Danube runabout.

For a little ship like Equinox, getting home faster wasn't a matter of desire; it was a matter of survival. She felt her heart break with compassion for those who had to live through that. Voyager had a decent chance of surviving a 75-year journey home. As for Equinox, well... it was nothing short of a miracle that they had even lasted that long.

Even as Kathryn swore she would not have made the same mistakes, she admitted how tempting it could be. She remembered herself as she was on the Al-Batani, a science officer sworn to follow her captain no matter the circumstance. If she'd been an ensign on Equinox with Owen Paris in the chair, she would have followed him blindly; because he would have wrapped all his orders in a regulation-issue bow, and she would have believed any discrepancies were due to her inability to understand the will of the Federation as perfectly as he did.

The Equinox crew, however, had taken the initiative, accepting an unethical path without requiring pretty lies from their captain. They were murderers, all of them. But they were doing it to save their own lives, and in that way, they were like carnivorous beasts who killed for food. Kathryn had never been stuck in such a desperate position, and she deeply regretted the words that had condemned the Equinox crew.

But if you asked the Captain who had been in charge at the time, she would still insist she had done what was right, and would do so again in a moment. It didn't matter that Equinox and Voyager were so completely mismatched. Everything came down to the sense of betrayal she had felt when she saw Starfleet personnel defying everything the Federation stood for.

Stuck within that conflict, Kathryn couldn't honestly apologize to the Equinox crewmen or Chakotay. Because she couldn't truly claim that she would act differently, given the chance. She could only regret that she couldn't even begin to set things right.

She knew she wouldn't get any more sleep that night. She pulled on her uniform, tamed her hair, and left to wander the ship.

---

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.

All hail JJ, the almighty beta!

Please feed the author! Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored!


	5. Furfly

The morning was fresh and B'Elanna was already on the rampage. Harry turned back to the access panel he was working on, trying to hide his grin. Repairs were nearly done, but all was not going as planned.

The lights had been out for hours. All of the repair crews had to wear SIMS beacons on their wrists so they could see what they were doing. The outage was more an annoyance than anything, since it didn't affect any other systems, but go tell that to B'Elanna. If the ship wasn't working right, it was a personal insult.

She was stalking around Engineering, tearing open panels and pushing her way into crawlspaces. The power grid was her enemy, and she was determined to track down the EPS feed that was causing the problem.

Harry kept his head down and tried not to get caught smiling. Oh, he didn't envy her. And he was starting to wonder if the engine room had a set of gremlins more daunting than that Talaxian fur fly carcass strung up in the corner. But her bluster was too extreme to be taken as anything other than the temper tantrum it was. Not that he'd ever let her know that.

And if that weren't enough, he couldn't help but be reminded of Tom's overdubbed Japanese monster vids each time his combadge dutifully translated the Klingon cursing. He finally understood how people could endure working beneath B'Elanna.

---

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.

All hail JJ, the almighty beta!

Please feed the author! Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored!


	6. Perspectives

Chakotay sat alone in the mess, pushing his lunch around his plate. B'Elanna had finally managed to get the lights back up, just in time for everyone to see exactly what Neelix had thrown together in the darkness.

Chakotay tried to tell himself that he was just tired from the late night at the potluck, but he knew better. Sleep hadn't come easily. Kathryn's actions haunted him.

Last night, before he had his talk with Greg, it didn't seem to matter as much. The issue, he had thought, was that she had betrayed him. Again. The ire he'd discovered in his office had mellowed to indignation, and he had been content to wallow in it.

He had been glaring at the ice as it melted in his tea when Greg sat down. Sandrine's quieted as people tried to overhear the conversation.

"So, what happened?" Greg asked.

Chakotay just continued brooding at his glass, refusing to acknowledge Greg's presence. He wanted to be left alone. But there was no point in saying so, because Greg would ignore it. And if he had tried to walk away, Greg would chase him across the ship, calling B'Elanna to crack open any doors sealed by command codes.

Of course, Greg wouldn't be put off by a little silence, either. He'd silently stare at Chakotay all night, if he had to. He'd done it several times before.

Well, damn him anyway.

With his teeth clenched, Chakotay breathed a dramatic sigh of aggravation. He fixed Greg with a glare that went completely ignored.

At last, Chakotay leaned forward, prompting Greg to do the same. In the quietest of voices, he said, "How can you have a friendship when there's no trust?"

Greg nodded, as if he'd heard exactly what he had expected. His voice was equally quiet. "Of course she doesn't trust you." Dismissing that, he asked, "What else have you got?"

Chakotay's anger began to climb. He said nothing.

Greg's eyes sparkled with amusement as he saw there was nothing else. He added, "Get over yourself. Save your pity for the dead."

The last was a phrase often used in the Maquis. Chakotay had always interpreted it to mean that one should only pity those who couldn't do anything more to change their lives. It had the intended effect, as it stopped him cold and made him put things into perspective.

Voyager was in disrepair, her crew still reeling in shock. And her captain was still a wreck. Chakotay didn't have the luxury of self-indulgence. He had to get things back on track. And the first thing to do was to put the crew at ease by getting back to business as usual.

He nodded once at Greg, a signal that the point was well taken.

"C'mon," Greg said. "Tom's waiting for us at the pool table."

Tuvok approached, pulling Chakotay's attention back to the mess hall. He dropped his fork into the unidentified muck.

"Good afternoon, Commander," Tuvok said, handing him a PADD.

"Thank you, Tuvok," Chakotay replied. Tuvok nodded and left.

Chakotay glanced down at the PADD. More repair updates. Something Kathryn and he would have been discussing over lunch. If she weren't still avoiding him.

Something was terribly wrong with her. He'd seen her obsessive, and he'd seen her livid. But neither could do any justice to the events of the last few days. She had let her anger consume her until she couldn't be bothered about what was right or what was best for the ship. That simply wasn't something Kathryn would do. Mercurial moods or not, she always kept Voyager's welfare as her first priority. He reluctantly allowed that Kathryn might be losing her sanity.

Chakotay watched as Tuvok retrieved a tray and sat at his usual table in the corner, pondering a question that had been bothering him more and more. Why didn't Tuvok do anything to help Kathryn?

As much as he hated facing it, he could understand why he himself had ignored Kathryn's instability. He had denied it because he didn't want to face the implications of the truth. But a Vulcan wouldn't think that way. And no matter how much he pondered it, he couldn't imagine why Tuvok would just watch as his captain fell apart.

He was stumped. Maybe Greg could help him figure it out.

"Is it true, Cap?"

Under his breath, but loud enough for Greg to hear, he muttered, "*Think* of the devil, and he shall appear?"

Of course, Greg didn't wait for an invitation to sit. His face stayed as impassive as usual, but he had that amused twinkle in his eyes. Part of that, Chakotay imagined, was at the comparison. But there was no question; Greg was up to some mischief.

Greg would tell him whether he asked or not, but Chakotay gave him his cue, anyway. "Is what true, Greg?"

"Is it true that Noah nearly got himself turned into alien food when he stood up to the captain?"

Chakotay's eyes narrowed. Only a Vulcan could have overheard Greg's quiet words. But Greg always knew exactly who was in a room, and Chakotay's peripheral vision confirmed that Tuvok was still there. The question wasn't for him; it was for Tuvok to overhear.

How the hell had Greg managed to get that out of the rumor mill, anyway? He was sure that Lessing had seen Kathryn's actions as a bluff. One that was supposedly proven when Chakotay had entered the cargo bay with his phaser drawn.

Again, it was the eyes that gave it away. Terror still reigned supreme, of course, but as Lessing calmed down and talked about the Ankari, Chakotay could see a hint of arrogance at besting Voyager's commanding officers. Chakotay had been more than happy to let him gloat. It was much better than telling him that the woman who would become his captain didn't give a damn about his survival.

But if the rumor mill had this one in its teeth, the command staff was in some major shit. Chakotay wanted to fix Greg with a full-on command glare. He wanted to bawl Greg out for doing this to him in front of Tuvok. He wanted to know exactly what the rumor mill was saying. But he had an audience, and therefore a part to play.

"Of course not," Chakotay lied, acting as if he had expected the question. "It was your standard bluff. Basic interrogation tactics. Pass that on to the lower decks, will you?"

Greg nodded. "Sure thing, Cap."

Chakotay shook his head in frustration, then got up to dump his tray. "See you after shift."

"Yeah," Greg answered.

---

**A/N:** We're getting close to the end, now, even though the storyline itself has barely begun. I have one more posting worth of material polished and ready to go, maybe two. Past that, I only have pages upon pages of half-written stuff that I can't seem to glue together. *sigh*

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.

All hail JJ, the almighty beta!

Please feed the author! Critical, nitpicky feedback is always adored!


End file.
